


Eros Giver of Pain

by verbaepulchellae



Series: Time Passes But I Sleep Alone [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bellamy is kind of a jerk, F/M, Ficlet, Pining, Post Season 2, Very poor coping mechanisms, a very sad jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy is reminded of another cup being handed to him, full of cool water to quench his fever sharp thirst, a light hand on his back, blonde hair falling by his shoulder. Bellamy lifts this cup to his mouth and takes a sip.</p><p>Directly follows 2.16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eros Giver of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm a wreck. 3.02 has destroyed me and this is what rose from the ashes. 
> 
> Title is fragment 13 of Sappho. Seemed fitting.

Bellamy gets his drink. There is pain and betrayal and a deep ache in his chest that alcohol does nothing to sooth because… because…

Clarke. 

Camp Jaha’s moonshine is strong, not as strong as Monty and Jaspers, but it burns right through the mess of noise in his head and dulls the most immediate pain. 

Radiation wracked bodies, a little boy’s friendly smile, God. Clarke.

Monty, Miller, Octavia and Lincoln are at another table, watching him but he doesn’t look at them, doesn’t make moves to join them. He needs to be alone. He needs Clarke. He doesn’t stop drinking. 

When he stands and manages to get himself to the bar, Miller finally approaches him. Bellamy is bracing himself against the bar, not trusting his feet to hold him, not trusting his legs to not carry him out of the gates to go after her. 

“Bellamy,” Miller says. “Bellamy, come on man. I think you’ve had enough.” He places his hand carefully on Bellamy’s shoulder but Bellamy shrugs him off. 

“I’m good,” Bellamy snaps. Miller frowns at him looks like he’s going to argue when a cup is placed in front of Bellamy.

“I got this,” someone says, quiet and authoritative. Bellamy looks up and sees curves and wavy hair and an earnest, no nonsense face and through the fog in his brain his heart constricts. But it’s not… it’s not… “Drink that,” the woman behind the bar tells Bellamy. 

Bellamy is reminded of another cup being handed to him, full of cool water to quench his fever sharp thirst, a light hand on his back, blonde hair falling by his shoulder. Bellamy lifts this cup to his mouth and takes a sip. 

“I got this,” the woman behind the bar says again to Miller and Bellamy sees her reassuring smile. It’s a smile that suggests she’s used to being listened to. He feels Miller step away from him and retreat. The woman nods to Bellamy. “Finish that. It’s going to help with the hangover you’re going to have tomorrow.”

“ ’M fine,” Bellamy mutters. 

“Whatever you say,” she humors him. He takes another sip and whatever the concoction is, it’s soothing in his raw throat. 

He stays at the bar, leaning his forehead into his fist, and slowly Camp Jaha quiets, its residents one by one retiring to their lean-tos and the Ark. Soon it’s just him and the woman behind the bar. She lets him stay even as she wipes down the bar and rinses cups in a bucket of water. He watches her and feels something flare in him. He needs a woman, needs someone to dull the pain in his chest, make him forget for a little. And she’s so… she’s so…

“Alright,” she says, suddenly next to him. Bellamy blearily blinks at her, tries to smile but thinks from her expression it looks more like a grimace. “Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“Only if you come with me,” Bellamy says, reaches out to rest his hand on her hip. He leans in to kiss her but the woman turns her head, plants a firm hand on his chest.

“No,” she says, quiet and certain and Bellamy stops dead, feels shame burn deep in his stomach. He stumbles backward, would fall except the woman catches his arm and balances him.

“Come on,” she says gently. “You’re ok, come on.” She guides him gently through the camp toward the wreckage of the Ark. Her hands are firm on his arm and steady him when he stumbles. He realizes he’s going to be sick and has to lean against the cold steel of the Ark. He vomits up moonshine and bile and coughs, the burn of stomach acid and alcohol sharp on his tongue like the burn of radiation on skin of hundreds of innocent people, like chapped lips pressed to his cheek. The woman produces a clean bit of fabric from her pocket and offers it to Bellamy. He wipes his mouth, eyes downcast. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. 

“I don’t envy the headache you’re going to have tomorrow,” is all she’ll say and then she’s moving him again. She deposits him in the room he’s sharing with Octavia. His sister doesn’t chide him, just thanks the woman and drops Bellamy onto his bed, throws blankets over him and then sits next to him and pushes his curls out of his face. 

“Oh, Bellamy,” she whispers and Bellamy catches her hand and holds it. Feels tears sting his eyes and turns his face into the pillow.

“She left,” Bellamy chokes and Octavia grips his hand. “O… O… she left.”

“I know, big brother,” Octavia says gently. “I know.”

Bellamy wakes up, as predicted, with an awful headache. Octavia has left a glass of water on the shelf next to the bed and he tries to drink a bit of it before his stomach rolls. He makes it outside before he’s retching, nothing coming up, just painful dry heaves. 

“Jesus,” Jasper says next to him. “You look like shit.” When Bellamy glances up at him, Jasper stares back hard, no sympathy in his face. He doesn’t linger, just leaves Bellamy and stalks off, cold fury etched in every line of his body. 

“I know,” Bellamy says hoarsely to himself and stands up a bit dizzily. “Fuck.”

He spends the morning walking slow circles around the parameter of the camp, scanning the tree line, waiting to for his head to stop pounding, waiting for his stomach to stop churning, waiting for Clarke to step out of the woods. She doesn’t, but eventually his body begins to feel less like he’s dying. He remembers Raven, so weak yesterday and goes to look for her. He owes her his presence after all she’s done for him.

She’s in Med-bay, sitting up in her bed, looking frail but alive and she smiles when she sees him. “Bellamy,” she greets him. There’s a woman sitting next to Raven who looks up and Bellamy’s stomach drops. It’s the bartender from the night before. He fights against his urge to turn tail and crosses the floor to sit on Raven’s bed. “You look like shit,” Raven assesses and Bellamy drags up a chuckle.

“Seems to be a common opinion today. You look tired,” he says, worried by the shadows under Raven’s eyes, her pale color. “How are you?”

“Feel like I went head to head with marrow sucking ass-shats and lost, but…”

“But you’re alive.” Bellamy finds her hand on the blankets and squeezes it. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all super happy about it,” Raven says wryly. “Bellamy, you know Gina?” She nods at the woman next to her. “Basically kept me alive with food and drink when I was on the radio with you.”

“We’ve met,” Gina says lightly and smiles at Bellamy. “How’s your head?”

“Probably better than it could have been, thanks to you,” Bellamy tells her and fights to meet her eyes. 

“Happy I could help,” Gina says and stands. “Raven, I’m so glad you’re ok. Once you’re up, you’re first drink is on me.”

“Thanks Gina.” Raven says and Bellamy can hear the exhaustion in her voice. 

“I should probably get going, too.” Bellamy gives Raven’s hand one more squeeze and stands up. “You need anything, Reyes, you send someone to find me, ok?”

“Ok,” Raven agrees. Bellamy walks with Gina to the door of the Med-bay and passes Wick as he’s coming in, looking exhausted himself but gently holding a fistful of wild flowers. 

Outside Bellamy hesitates. “Listen,” he says, “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have come on to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gina says, “it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

Shame reignites in Bellamy’s stomach and he looks at her. Her gaze is level and calm and she smiles at him when he meets her eyes. “Still,” he says gruffly, “Doesn’t mean I should have tried.”

“Well, thank you for saying that.” Gina’s smile sweetens a bit. It’s sincere and kind and lacks any pity. Bellamy is grateful for it. “I’ll see you around, Bellamy.”

“Sure,” Bellamy says. “I promise not to try to kiss you again,” he tags on lamely.

“Well,” Gina says, “If you do, just promise me you won’t be thinking of someone else.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Fair enough.” 

He knows he’s a jerk when a few weeks later he stays late at the bar, sober, and does kiss her. Something flares in his chest that is both like hope and like heart break. If he thinks of someone else, he pretends not to.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos light up my life <3 I am on [tumblr](http://verbam.tumblr.com), feel free to come scream into the void with me.


End file.
